


Crucifying Scully

by lone_lilly



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lone_lilly/pseuds/lone_lilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Your end is your beginning is your end.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (01/14) prologue  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
BOOK I  
PROLOGUE

Discipline controlled Dana's life.

Her father was in the Navy and so discipline was the truth. But Dana was

also her daddy's sweetheart. She resembled Ahab the most out of all the Scully

children and she had his same moral self discipline, the same drive to be the

best at everything she did. Ahab was strict with his children, they were

brought up to be respectful of authority and institutions. He was from the old

school of thought and he disciplined them accordingly.

Ahab believed there was a time for silliness and childhood games, and there

was also a time to sit up straight and not speak until first spoken to.

Three of the Scully clan were rebellious against the family name. The oldest

son always wanted the attention that little Dana received from their father.

Bill was jealous of Dana and as a result was always very condescending of her.

Dana's sister despised her father for all of his rules and punishments, and

for his constant abandonment as he set sail to some far off land. Charlie

Scully had the misfortune of being born after Dana, and therefore never

received a fair shot in the competition for their father's affection. Dana was

always perfect and the joy in her father's eyes.

She was his Starbuck.

She craved the adoration she received from her father. They would drive out

to the military base in whatever city they lived in at the time and he would

tell her great tales of the ocean life.

He read to her from Moby Dick.

He would whisper to her and tell her she was his favorite.

But something in Dana, some tiny spark of dissatisfaction, hated her father

for his isolation. She sometimes, in the solitude of her bed, felt suffocated

by the constant pressure to be everything he demanded of her. She knew his

disappointment would shatter her. She knew she thrived on his approval. She

secretly loved her dependence on him.

She hated herself for that.

When Dana was three she wanted to drive a garbage truck. When she was twelve

she wanted to be in the Navy like her father. When she was eighteen she

secretly wanted to be a police woman.

Ahab wanted Dana to be a doctor.

And so she enrolled in medical school and graduated with honors, and Ahab

was pleased with her accomplishments. And he smiled upon her with confidence.

And it was good.

Then Dana rebelled against Ahab's plan and she entered the FBI, where she

fought among men to identify herself in a world of defense and strategy. She

struggled to maintain her father's ideals while she began to discover her own,

in an environment where religion and science did not coagulate, and she chose

the latter with its hard evidence and reasonable answers.

And still Ahab was proud.

He was, after all, her father.

Dana had her independence though her heart owed much to her family. The need

to prove herself to her most beloved was ingrained inside her very being, but

through it all she never lost sight of who she was.

She was a daughter, a sister, a doctor, a special agent, but most

importantly she was Dana.

And then Dana was exiled to the basement. And there she became Scully. And

she was sentenced to eternity in this proverbial lion's den, where she was

thrown to the beasts many times. And she and a man named Mulder scoured the

earth, searching for the Truth, which came in many forms, shrouded with so

many lies that it was impossible to ascertain which truth they had revealed.

They were warriors, fighting a battle against monsters and men and sometimes

each other. They traveled the land together and apart as they gathered the

lies and turned them and joined them until they seemingly locked into place- a

mass jigsaw puzzle where the blunt edges were all too similar and nothing was

certain.

There were few believers in the evildoers of the world and Scully often

found herself straddling the fence of reason.

Sometimes her skepticism fortified her walls and kept her alive.

And sometimes it killed her.

All she was told she needed was faith the size of a mustard seed. All that

she could offer was an arched eyebrow and a closed mind.

After all Scully had seen, she only believed in Mulder.

She had cancer.

She told him to make him believe in her.

And he did.

Mulder died.

Scully was cured.

He came back.

She needed him.

Scully hated that dependence too.

She loved Mulder.

Mulder loved her.

But would it be enough to find the truth?

  



	2. Crucifying Scully (02/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (02/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  


Chapter I : Reparations Are Derived From Intimacy

Mulder's Apartment

2:30 am

It has been one hell of a day.

No, scratch that. It's been one hell of a *week*.

Mulder and I have been through a lot of shit in our five years together but

this last case has succeeded where no other one before it could.

The X-Files are gone.

Not just closed down like they tried before. They are really gone. Swept away

in a dustpan full of ashes.

This is our charred-black truth.

We got the call almost two hours before. Mulder was sleeping on the couch and

I had curled up on the floor next to him, trying to be as close as he would

let me. I was exhausted but I didn't want to go home by myself. My head was

swimming with all the things I had learned this week.

A boy, who was so perfect in his creation, that he could read men's thoughts

and by this weird freak of nature-or was it man?-

he was able to look into your soul.

I believed in this, like I have believed in nothing else I've seen, I have my

scientific answers, my reasonable, consummate proof that this boy is like no

other.

I envied this boy.

He was the only one who could give me the answers to the questions that had

been forming inside me all week.

Who is this Diana Fowley?

When I asked Mulder he gave me answers so vague they were parallel to all the

"I'm fine's" I had thrown at him in the past. At first I was hurt because he

wasn't being open with me. He was being elusive when all I was asking for was

the truth.

His Truth.

I know now he's protecting me. He doesn't want me to know because he

understands. She was his partner, the last "good" one he had before me. The

others between us were never respectful of Mulder, of his work, of his cases,

of his fear. She is strong, and intelligent, and supportive. He cares about

her like he cares for me. Our comparisons end there.

She was his lover.

He doesn't want me to know that because I am not. There are two things I have

never given to Mulder despite all the sacrifices I have made for him. One is

an open mind. My ability to simply believe his evidence and never examine it

with the fine-toothed comb of reality. I have never been able to surrender

that until today. The second truth I've withheld from him is my body.

I've made weak attempts in the past to offer this as well. Mulder is

unaccepting of my gift, not because he doesn't want me. I know that he wants

everything I can offer, as I need him as well. He keeps me at a safe distance

from him always because of his fear of losing me again. We cannot promise each

other immortality.

Perhaps he won't accept my body until I have offered my faith?

He refuses to inform me of Diana because she had succeeded where I have not.

He had let her comfort him in a way I only dream about. He had let her inside,

in that place that is so locked up by his vulnerabilities, and then she had

left. Been reassigned. Transported to a far away country where he never

thought he would see her again.

He will not let that happen to me.

I was considering all of this when the phone rang, shattering my concentration

and startling Mulder awake.

We were told to come down to headquarters right away.

The ride was silent and Mulder had practically jumped out of the car before I

had even pulled into the parking space. When I weeded my way through the

firemen and the crowd that had gathered I found Mulder in the now smokey

remains of our office, staring at the destruction around him. I surveyed the

damages and my eyes fell on the poster which hung above his desk.

"I want to believe."

It seemed to scream mockingly at me as the smell of sulfur permeated my

nostrils.

Well, Dana, this is the shit you get when you believe.

I remember staring at that poster once analyzing it as if it were another dead

body. B-E-L-I-E-V-E. The word 'lie' right in the middle, splitting the larger

word in two, somehow, sometimes, it was a chasm that couldn't be bridged.

This is the truth. All of our efforts were in vain.

I look at Mulder as I take a few steps towards him. He isn't breathing. I

vaguely register the thought that he's in shock. But I know the more important

issue at hand is the darkness that he is quickly plummeting into inside his

head.

I take a deep breath and I wrap my arms around him. This is not supposed to be

a comforting hug for me or for him. This is clinging to life. To truth. To us.

For a long eternity I hold him while he stares unseeingly at the remnants of

our life. He never responds to me, but then again I never expected him to. At

last, I lead him away and I answer as many questions as I can about how and

why this might have happened. Mulder is silent, and I know nothing.

I don't remember much about the ride back to Mulder's apartment, I just

remember looking up and recognizing his building. He hasn't said a word since

we left an hour and a half before. He immediately goes to his couch and curls

up like a small child.

I curse Them in my mind for doing this to us.

I don't know what to do now. I don't have all the answers anymore. I'm as lost

as he is.

Even when I was diagnosed with cancer I never felt this empty. What I felt was

guilt for not being strong enough to finish my work with Mulder. I felt sorrow

for the fact that I would one day leave all that I cared about, not as a

willing player, but as a defenseless pawn in a game of deceit and destruction.

Now I feel alone in a way I never could have imagined.

I hear a noise and I'm shaken out of my reverie. I look to Mulder, who is now

weeping in his restless sleep. I know I must help him awaken from this

nightmare, not just the one in his sleep, but the one in his heart as well.

I walk over to the couch and kneel down so I am level with him. For a moment I

watch as his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids, as his body tenses, and his

fists clench. I bring my hand up to his cheek and he turns in his sleep to

face me. Immediately I notice the change in his breathing, and the relaxation

of his body. It is not drastic, but it is enough for me to rationalize what I

am about to do for him.

Tonight I will be his Diana Fowley. I will be his Kristen Kilar. I will be all

those videos and magazines and one nine hundred numbers.

I will be anything he needs me to be.

I lean forward and lightly kiss his lips. They are soft and warm, and gently

relaxed, because he isn't aware yet of what I'm doing to him. I feel him

slowly return to consciousness and so I pull away and wait. When he doesn't

wake up, I lean into him again, adding a more insistent pressure to his lips.

This time, when I pull back, his eyes are open and I search his face, his

emotions unclear. For a long time he looks into my eyes, and I can't help but

feel anxious as to what his intentions are.

Is he going to refuse me *again*, when I have made it so blatantly obvious

what I am willing to do for him.

Am I not enough? Is he trying to figure out the best way to reject me, so that

I won't end up being hurt?

It won't hurt me, Mulder.

It would crucify me.

At last, his eyes sweep over my face and then they focus on my lips, which are

still slightly opened from my last kiss. I realize I am holding my breath,

waiting for his decision, his approval, his next move.

Without conscious thought of my actions, I move my face closer to his, so that

our lips are just a short breath away. And then before I can even register

what he is about to do, his lips capture mine, and he is biting into my lower

lip. His fingers fly to my face where he cradles my head in his strong hands,

as his tongue soothes the marks he just made on my lip.

My fingers tangle in his hair, the silky strands falling around my hands,

urging him to deepen the kiss.

His tongue slides past my lips and into my mouth where it makes a sweeping

exploration of every tiny crevice. I capture his tongue between mine and the

roof of my mouth, and I suck on it, as if it would save my very life.

It just might.

He pulls me on top of him, and I relish in the feeling of my body pressed

against his. I feel his hard length pulsing against my belly, and I place open

mouthed kisses along his jaw line, as his mouth finds my ear. He instinctively

finds the sensitive place in front of my ear lobe, and I shiver with

anticipation as his tongue travels a lazy circle around my skin. I feel a low

moan escape from me, when his hands remove my shirt, and start to slowly

caress my back. He reaches that place he's so often touched but never like

this, and he begins to massage it gently, then firmly as he recognizes my

reaction for what it is.

Arousal.

This is my special secret from him, one I'd always known he'd uncover, one

that hopefully would surprise and delight him to reveal. There is a tiny place

on my back, close to my spine, and right above my hips, that is so sensitive,

if enough pressure is applied I know I could climax, thoughts of penetration

never having to enter my mind. He drags his finger nails over this particular

patch of skin, and I find myself literally writhing on top of him, my body

trembling with the sensations shooting from his fingers straight to a puddle

between my thighs.

Does he realize what this does to me? Does he know how this simple motion

drives me insane?

His hands caress my tingling flesh, massaging the tension away, and creating a

lightning bolt of sensation throughout my body.

I don't remember when I first learned of this oddly placed erogenous zone.

When past lovers' hands would glide over my body, I'd recognize the sharp

tightening of my muscles and the white hot pain-pleasure spiralling through my

veins.

I've never had a lover though find this spot and then elaborate on it. I

suppose they were always looking for more conventional ways of arousing me,

and this is fine. It is only fitting that Mulder should be the one to discover

this, and then in his single-minded obsession to complete the job well-done,

use it to bring me to ecstasy again and again.

My hips are moving restlessly against his, trying desperately to fill that

void which is now so recognizable within me. His hands leave my back, a groan

of disappointment escapes me, and he chuckles softly. He wraps my arms around

his neck and I hold on tightly as he sits up on the couch. I am now straddling

his lap and I kiss him hard when I feel his erection pressing into me. He

lifts us both off the couch and carries me into the bedroom, and we don't

break our kiss until he sets me down on the bed. In the five years I have

known Mulder, I have never even suspected he owned a bed.

The thought flees from my mind though as he begins to undo the zipper of my

pants. I pull away from him, and I slip my pants off my legs and let them drop

to a puddle on the floor. I am left in only a black bra and panties and I let

my gaze skim over my body before I look up at Mulder. I notice with

satisfaction that he has removed his T-shirt and jeans as well. Our eyes meet

and I see the hunger in his gaze. I offer my hand to him, and as he takes it I

pull him onto the bed with me.

He lands on top of me and I murmur my delight as his hands start skimming my

body again. He kisses me passionately, pressing me deeper into the mattress,

but I want so much more.

I slip my hand between our bodies and begin stroking him through the cotton of

his boxers. He is so hard and big, and I need to see him, to *feel* him inside

me. I push his boxers down his hips as he unclasps my bra in the back. My hand

returns to stroking him as he reaches in front of me and cups my breasts

through the loose scrap of lace still encasing them. He pushes my bra away and

wastes no time in touching me again. His thumbs circle my nipples and I arch

my back, pushing myself into his touch.

I tilt my head to the side as he licks his way down my neck, where he stops at

my collar bone, to lap at the indentation, tasting the salty moisture that's

gathered there in our passion. I barely even notice he's removed my panties

now as well.

I push his head down lower and he takes the hint, and begins licking and

sucking on my nipples. I feel them tighten even more and it's almost painful

as he continues to nibble his way down my body.

He dips his tongue into my navel, and I nearly squeal at the intensity of

this act. I now understand why this is so erotic, it is in imitation of the

very thing I am craving right now, and the sheer perfection with which he

thrusts his tongue in and out just might kill me.

That is, of course, what I think until his mouth suddenly travels even lower,

and his tongue begins the same expert treatment on the very core of me.

Now, I know he's going to kill me.

His hands are trying to hold me still, but it's to no avail, because I no

longer have any control over my body. I am writhing, and shaking, and my hands

are clenching the quilt underneath me, bunching it up as my hands contract and

relax, and my head is turning from side to side, and still I need *more*.

It takes all my strength to tear his mouth away from me and I quickly sit up

and straddle his knees, not wanting to lose contact for one second. He must

feel the same because he is pulling me closer, on top of him, and as I am

impaled on his *hard* length I throw my head back and groan in complete

satisfaction.

One of his hands finds my back again, and he again begins to tease the flesh

he finds there. His movements are fierce, kneading and scratching and clawing,

and then gentle as he smooths the red marks away with his caress, and I am

moaning his name over and over.

I have never been this vocal before. Usually I am extremely quiet so that I

can concentrate on my lover and what he likes. But now I am the one that is

whimpering and moaning, deep sounds vibrating from my chest, and Mulder is the

one who hasn't spoken this whole evening.

His other hand pulls my head to him and he kisses me, thrusting his tongue

inside my mouth now, and I taste him, and Oh God, I can taste *me*, and it's

all I can do to keep from passing out in his arms right there.

I lift myself up, and quickly bring myself down upon him once more, and we

soon find an excrutiatingly wonderful rhythm, up and down. Up and down. And

oh, when he moves like that it hits just the right spot, and oh yes, please

Mulder, more, more, more!

I'm screaming to him now, begging him for the release that is sure to come but

seems so far off, and if only he'll do that again-

"Oh God Mulderrrrrr!"

And then I feel him lengthen even more and then he's coming too, and his

fingers on my back are actually digging into my flesh, but I don't care, the

pain is so exquisite, and he's filling me with his seed, and we are still

clinging to each other, and thrusting against each other, but more clumsily

now. There is no finesse. This is not about being sweet. It is not even about

love, or affection. This is about lies, and comfort, and need, and it's an

ending as well as a beginning, and this was my gift to him. My body and my

faith.

And then finally we are through, and left panting and sweating and holding

onto each other.

He pushes my sweat-slicked body away from his, and I look into his eyes. I'm

searching for my answers, but I've already lost him again, his eyes are

distant and remote. He kisses me less roughly than before, and we lie back on

the bed, and he holds me close to him.

I rest my head on his chest and I only hope that this saved him.

I finally fall asleep listening to his heavy breathing


	3. Crucifying Scully (03/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (03/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter II: Distortion of Reality Salvages The Soul

Mulder's Apartment

9:58am

I wake up to the harsh sound of rain beating against the window and for a

moment I am wary of my surroundings. I try to piece together the fragments of

memory that I can recall from the previous week's existence, and then with

dawning clarity I know.

Mulder's bedroom.

My surroundings are inexpensive to say the least, the decor is definitive in

its simplicity; basic lines and neutral colors, with no exaggeration on

design.

I glance around and see the bare gray walls, and the minimal pine furniture

scattered around the room. There is one small floor lamp in the corner

farthest from me and no over head lighting of any sort. A small window, the

only other light source, faces the bed and I can tell when the sun descends it

is probably very dark indeed.

How very Mulder.

It is at this point I realize that I am alone and from the feel of the cool

sheets next to me, I have been for sometime.

Waking up alone in Mulder's bed the morning after is not entirely surprising.

Had I enough time to evaluate my actions the night before I might have even

considered this a reasonable possibility. We have just allowed a new facet of

the relationship to emerge, and we both need time to analyze our future. He

probably needed the isolation to think over everything that had just happened

to us the day before, and left me to seek out the privacy of that damn leather

couch.

I smile at the thought of his incessant loyalty to that overstuffed beanbag

chair when he has such a decidedly pleasant bed in here. . . .with me. But

then Mulder never has chosen the most expected or logical of ideas, and really

this instance should have proven no different.

Yes, knowing Mulder as well as I do, I should have anticipated my first waking

moments as his lover to be spent in solitude.

However, anticipating is one thing and experiencing it is quite another. I

know we have a lot to talk about now, much to sort through, and I'd just

assume we get it over with now rather than later.

Funny how it is only now, as I'm putting on Mulder's long- forgotten T-shirt,

that I contemplate just how uneasy this moment is. Facing him now, especially

after being deprived of gauging his first waking reaction, I feel so uncertain

as to what his response will be.

Is he regretting it? Are we going to ignore it as if it never happened? No

words of affection were ever muttered so can we pretend the feelings don't

exist? We probably could handle that.

After all, repression is so often practiced between the two of us that really

there is nothing we cannot deny or rationalize away until it no longer poses a

threat.

Or are we going to decide that we wish to persue a more loving and intimate

relationship?

I sit on the bed and ponder that thought for a minute. I really, *really* want

that. But if it is not what Mulder wants, I will settle for whatever we can

salvage in our relationship, even if that includes many more nights of sexual

frustration.

However, that might be my personal downfall because, my God, the sex was

*incredible*.

This new thought brings yet another smile to my face, and I realize I am

probably even blushing. My facial muscles are starting to ache from so much

use, and I decide it's either now or never. I stand up and begin the short

journey into the rest of Mulder's apartment, other rarely used muscles

proclaiming their discomfort in tight contractions throughout my body. I had

forgotten how strenuous *good* sex could be.

As I enter the living room, I am assaulted by the utter sense of quiet and

undeniable solitude that greets me. The room has been straightened since last

I saw it. The couch, which I was so sure he would be inhabiting, shows no

signs of occupation. I notice that our clothes- or rather, *my* clothes, for

his are no longer there- previously discarded during our passion, are now

folded in a neat pile and laying on the coffee table. His ancient, weathered

trench coat, which had been resting right beside mine, is now missing from the

coat rack. His car keys, cell phone, and weapon are no where to be seen.

I pivot in place, barely moving, as my eyes take all this in within a few

blinding seconds. My mind processes this information quickly, cataloguing the

data and filing it away, even as it produces its own horrifying conclusion.

And then the automatic rationalizing occurs, my brain ignoring the previous

inference, and scanning all past experience trying to find that one logical

explanation that will make the clenching deep within my stomach to cease, and

the slamming pain behind my eyes to disappear.

He couldn't.

No!

He wouldn't.

He has before. . . but, he absolutely would not . . . . not *now*. Not after

all we've been through this last year. Not after the cancer. Not after

Samantha's ambiguous return, and her equally mysterious rejection of him.

He would not do this. Not to me. Not after Emily. Not after last week.

No, not after last night.

How could he *now* ?

A small voice inside of me, not within the consummate rationale of my mind,

but the twisted depths of my heart, whispers that it may not be what I fear.

He may have simply gone to the grocery store, after perusing his cabinets and

coming up empty as usual. He could have gone to check his mail box, or pick up

the Saturday paper, or be walking his neighbor's damn dog, or talking to an

informant, or. . .or. . .

The truth and the doubt, my questions and my answers are spinning wildly

inside my head, and the bile rising in my throat forces me to sit down.

I close my eyes and wait for the waves of nausea to pass.

My scientific mind regains its control and then with striking impact, forces

me to focus on the unrefutable proof that he is in fact gone. That I am

clothed only in Mulder's shirt, sitting on his couch, *alone* in his

apartment.

I don't know what's expected of me in this situation. I don't know how I'm

supposed to react. I want to cry, and scream, and completely trash everything

in Mulder's fucking apartment. I want to curl into a ball on his bed, cocooned

in sheets that smell of us together, and simply wallow in the self-pity that

he has ultimately shattered every fiber of the thick ice-walls that protect my

heart. I want to vomit. I want to find him, and then shoot him again. I want

to find him and then throw myself into his arms and make him promise it was a

mistake, that he hadn't really meant to leave me.

I want to do all these things.

But I don't.

I don't cry or scream or beg or react in any non sensible way at all. I never

do, and to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't give Mulder that satisfaction right

now of knowing how he hurt me.

I do the only thing I am programmed to do. I walk through his apartment,

paying no attention to the tugging desire in my chest to look around and

memorize every detail, in hopes that later I can recall each item with

photographic clarity. I, instead, pick up my belongings and dress myself

mechanically, using only enough cerebral matter to execute this simple,

practiced skill.

I rely on thirty-four years of experienced repression to keep my head high as

I walk out of Mulder's apartment. I close the door on our life together,

completing the job he began a few hours earlier.

I don't look back.

  



	4. Crucifying Scully (04/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (04/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

Chapter III: Anger Triumphs Over Despair

Scully's Apartment

3:07 pm

I glance at the clock on my desk and realize I have been sitting here for ten

minutes, staring mindlessly at my computer monitor. The little gray mailbox

icon is flashing, notifying me that I have yet to open my email, as if I

needed to be reminded of that fact.

Mulder must not have been in too much of a hurry to leave this morning since

he had time to email me first.

I have been sitting here, quite numb in fact, praying to my God that this

letter would reveal that he is only on some wild goose chase and he will

return in a few days. I have fairly convinced myself that it is indeed what it

says, but that I'll never know for sure if I remain sitting here, unmoving.

I should probably also exhale at some point, since I've become aware that I

have been holding the same breath for some time now.

I slide the mouse around on the screen until it lands on the one piece of

email I have in my mailbox, and quickly I click the mouse, the motion more a

spasm, than anything else.

I close my eyes while the letter loads onto my hard drive.

After the slight whirring sounds of my modem cease, I take a quick little gasp

of breath, and offer one last supplication to God, and then I open my eyes.

>From: fmuld@fbi.gov

>To: dscul@fbi.gov

>Subject: goodbye

>

 _Scully,_

 __

 _Thank you for reading this and not deleting it immediately. I want you to know this has nothing_

 _to do with last night. It was incredible, Dana, thank you._

 _This is something I have do. It is imperative I find the truth now, more_

 _so than ever before. I *can't* let them do this to me, to the X-Files. I left_

 _you because I can't, won't let them take any more of your life from you. It's_

 _not too late for you. I will not sit by and watch you throw it all away for_

 _my search._

 __

 _I apologize for not having the courage to tell you this in person but I_

 _know that you would argue with me until I gave in. I couldn't afford that to_

 _happen. It'll be easier for me if I know you are safe somewhere, instead of_

 _out here with me. I truly didn't deserve to have you as my partner, and I'll_

 _never forget how you challenged me, protected me, and sometimes even saved_

 _me from myself._

 __

 _I will always carry your strength and your faith in my heart._

 __

 _Goodbye, Scully,_

 _  
Mulder_

It is simply and quite utterly amazing to me how my life managed to crumble

around my feet in such a short time. It has only been a week since it all

started. A mere seven days in my thirty four years of existence, and yet it's

profound impact has left me completely incapacitated to comprehend anything

else.

My life as I know it is over.

I am no longer employed in the X-Files division of the Federal Bureau of

Investigations. My partner and I staked everything we had on our last case, we

played the cards we had, and we lost. Everything we searched for, everything

we lived for has been stripped from us, as easily as if it were never there to

begin with.

Then in a moment of blinding stupidity- and yes, that's the only thing you can

call it now- I gave up everything I had, exposing myself more vulnerably than

I ever had before, offering my last vestiges of pride and control to the only

person I thought I could trust.

And he ditched me.

Mulder *fucking* ditched me *again*.

I can feel the fever staining my cheeks as the anger wells up inside me.

Searing- white, uncontrollable rage flowing through my veins, making my heart

race and my head absolutely throb with the tension of it.

I've never allowed myself to *feel* this way before, never knew I had it in

me. The emotions swimming inside me now are so unfamiliar, so frightening in

intensity, I can't cope. Not with this.

Not now.

Protecting me! He thinks he is protecting me. He doesn't want to see me hurt.

He doesn't want *them* to hurt me. So, the Son of a Bitch leaves me when I

need him more than I need anything else in my life. When he was the only

person I've ever trusted, or *loved*, and he knew. He's always known. I

couldn't live now without him. From the very first day I met him my soul has

become so dependent on him I can no longer face life without him beside me. He

knew. He knew all of this, without my ever having vocalized it, he knew once I

started I would never be able to go back.

He knew and he left me anyway.

Turned his back and walked out on me. He took everything away from me,

everything I could ever give and then some, and he left me with absolutely

nothing.

I can't. I can't deal with this now. I can't be here and think about this. I

have to get out. It's too much.

I flip off the computer, normal log-off procedures ignored, flickering in the

recesses of my mind, but overwhelmed by my urge to hurl this machine, the

messenger of my fate, to its own demise. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters

anymore. Not with this pounding in my head.

Not when the fucking *bastard* left me to rot.

I have to get out of here.

I grab my purse off the coat rack and leave, slamming the door with a

fierceness that doesn't even phase me.

  



	5. Crucifying Scully (05/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (05/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
  
Chapter IV: Inebriation Promotes Denial

Chesapeake Bay Marina

7:15pm

It's funny where you end up when you're not really thinking about going

anywhere in particular. The first thing I did when I left my apartment was

drive straight to the Georgetown Packaging Company and picked myself up a nice

bottle of red wine, and an even nicer bottle of Jose Cuervo. Memories of my

headache will be gone by the end of the evening.

Along with other memories. . .

My next stop was at a little grocery store where I purchased some limes, two

bottles of Aleve, and five packs of filtered cigarettes, the latter being a

habit I picked up from my mother, who always took up smoking when she was too

stressed out to

care about her health. I, being the good little doctor I am, have always tried

to avoid them whenever possible, but nothing sounds better right now than a

few cigarettes and a damn good tequila buzz.

I smoked a whole pack in the car while I sat *parked* on Route 50 for almost

two hours. If it weren't for the God-awful traffic coming out of D.C. I could

have been here in under forty-five minutes.

I really had no intention of ending my journey *here* in the parking lot of

the Chesapeake Bay Marina. I drove straight on Route 50 to Annapolis, without

even thinking about it, and now I'm parked in front of the family boat, just

minutes away from the Annapolis Naval Academy.

God, how many hours did I spend here when I was a child?

My father bought the Lady Anderson when I was four, right after Charlie was

born. We'd drive up here on the weekends Ahab taught at the Academy and then

the entire family would set sail on the Bay, enjoying the smooth ride, the

sunshine and Mom's fried chicken. The last time I was here was shortly after

Ahab passed away and I came up here to spend a quiet weekend with my mother. I

recall leaving some clothes with the good intention of returning not too long

after that. I'm sure instead I ended up in some God-forsaken town chasing

little grey men with Mulder.

The best laid plans of mice and men.

My mother and Bill's family were here about a month ago, and I'm sure the

cabinets are still well-stocked with soup and other non-parishable items so I

can probably stay here for awhile.

Good.

I grab up my grocery bags and climb out of the car and head for the pier. The

Lady Anderson is not a terribly large yacht, but it was suitable for my family

and maybe a few friends. It stands before me now, still against the beginnings

of the Maryland sunset, looking just like something out of a painting.

The sight is breathtaking and I feel it's calming affect on me, noticing the

anger lying just beneath the surface ebb a little. Not enough to make the

headache disappear, but then, I'll be taking care of *that* shortly.

I finally find the right key, and with a careful juggling of the bags manage

to let myself in. Instantly, the lingering smell of my family assaults me, and

for the first time in what seems like forever I am able to smile.

First things first. I set my bags on the table, and make my way to the bedroom

I always shared with Missy. It's still decorated in the same pinks and blues

my mother chose thirty years ago.

This is comfort.

I look in the dresser drawer to make sure my stuff is still there, and notice

with satisfaction that everything is in place. Walking back into the living

area, I flip off the lights so that only the small lamp by the couch is on,

it's dim lighting perfect for this evening's plans. I place my groceries on

the table and move to the cupboards to gather a shot glass, a champagne flute,

the salt shaker, and a knife. God bless my mother for keeping this place up.

I sit down on the couch, kick off my shoes, and pull my legs up underneath me,

something my mother always discouraged when I was a child.

Well, I'm certainly not a child anymore, Mom.

Eyeing the bottles before me I decide to hell with the wine, I'm starting with

the tequila tonight. I quickly swallow some Aleve, three to be exact, light a

cigarette, and slice a lime in half.

Prepping my hand in the age-old ritual preceding tequila shots, my mind

wanders back to medical school when the fashionable way to celebrate the

completion of an exam was to do body shots with your lab partner. I grin as I

lick the salt off my hand. That certainly made for some interesting evenings.

I down the first shot, the heat traveling down my throat, and I am forced to

close my eyes at the slow burn inside my veins. I wait for a second before

sucking on the lime, enjoying the feeling of fire which is steadily pushing

out the numbness I've felt all day.

Nice to know I'm still alive.

A lot of good it does me.

I'm still alone, with a bitch of a headache, attempting to drink myself into

oblivion, while my partner, who was in my arms less than fifteen hours before

is off somewhere, doing God knows what, looking for the truth about someone

who doesn't even love him.

How ironic. I sacrificed it all for him and he ditches me. She doesn't want

him and he'd fucking kill everyone else in the world just to see her again.

I deserve another drink.

I start the ritual all over again, the second shot easier to handle then the

first. By the eighth I won't even need the lime.

Ah, yes, something to look forward to.

Somewhere around the tenth shot comes a heady tingle throughout my body, and a

giggle erupts from my throat. My headache's gone, replaced by a wonderful

little buzz that has taken residence somewhere in between my ears. The

cloudiness of the liquor chasing away all thoughts of Mulder.

Half way through the bottle of tequila, I decide I'd like some wine now

instead, so I pour myself a glass of some unknown vintage and lie back down on

the couch.

It strikes me as amusing that I, Dana Katherine Scully, am sitting here on my

mother's couch in my father's boat, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and

getting smashed.

I wonder what Mom'd say if she could see me now, sprawled out on the sofa,

fingering my belly button while balancing a cigarette in one hand and a glass

in the other.

She'd probably be afraid I'd drop the cigarette and burn a hole in the

upholstery.

Oh hell, Melissa lost her virginity on this couch.

I know because I sat in the hallway and watched. The boy, Jed Baker, and his

parents were spending the weekend with us on the boat. He and Missy were both

about sixteen at the time, and flirted with each other the entire trip. I

awoke one night to the sounds of Missy sneaking out of the room and I waited

until she had made it to the living room before following her.

I watched them kiss for an eternity before he lifted her nightgown and removed

her panties. I remember feeling ashamed of watching them but I also knew I

couldn't turn away. I was thirteen and just beginning to notice the changes

in my body, not knowing why I felt the things I was feeling.

He covered her mouth with his hand when he first entered her, and I saw her

bite into his fingers to keep from crying out. They moved against each other a

handful of times and then I heard Jed groan as he reached climax.

I ran back to my room as silently as I could and hid under the covers. I was

shaking so bad I just knew Melissa would know what I had seen when she crawled

back into bed that night. I listened for her breathing to slow and then

stabilize as she drifted off to sleep. It was a long time before I was able to

do the same.

The rest of the trip passed by uneventfully, ending with Missy and Jed

sneaking off to share a kiss before we all left for home. I remembered that

night for a long time, the memories always brought a sense of guilt for

watching, and for not telling my parents, but as I grew older and began to

understand it, it also evoked a little excitement somewhere inside me, to know

their secret, to have been a part of it, as invisible as it was. And even

though I never told Melissa what I had seen that night, I always felt I shared

certain bond with her, a link between our souls.

I feel my headache creeping up on me again and swallow a few more pills with a

glass of wine this time, and I turn off the lamp, casting the room in an inky,

dark void.

That's better.

I drain my glass and manage to set it aside before rolling over on the couch

and closing my eyes, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the last week take its

inevitable toll. I ignore the tears that snuck up on me while thinking of

Melissa, and curl myself into as small a position as possible before falling

asleep.

  



	6. Crucifying Scully (06/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (06/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter V: Pain And Torment Fall Secondary To Guilt

The Lady Anderson

6:45 am

Alone.

I am running down a dark street, away from someone. . . *something*.

Cold.

I am so cold.

I'm trying to get away.

Nothing.

I need him.

Where *is* he?

< Goodbye, Scully. >

He will save me.

< I left you because I can't >

Just say his name.

I open my mouth, and with all my strength I try to scream for help.

Silence.

Darkness.

I am so very cold.

It's closing in on me.

I can't get away.

Faster.

Slower.

Black.

White.

Closer.

Walls.

No where to run.

Envy.

< It'll be easier for me >

Doubt.

< I left you because I can't >

Desperation.

Need.

< This is something I have to do. >

Loss.

< Goodbye, Scully >

Pain.

< I'll never forget >

Fear.

I feel it gaining on me, catching up with me, stalking me. I have to get away,

to hide, but *where*?

I try to pick up speed, though my body is pleading for rest, but I *can't*. I

have to keep going. I notice for the first time a wall ahead of me, one that's

too high and flat for me to climb and as I approach it I hear the footsteps

behind me, and then I'm there, and there is no where for me to run, and I

have no choice but to turn around and face my hunter. . .

. . .And then *he* is there, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into his

strong embrace and I'm fighting him, trying to get away, immobilized by the

fear, and he's kissing me.

"No!" I try to scream but it comes out a small whimper and he's pushing me

back against the wall but instead I keep falling and falling down, backwards,

and this time I *am* screaming.

My head hits something soft and then I realize I am on a bed, naked, and he's

on top of me kissing me and licking me, his hands roaming over my flesh and I

can't fight it any longer.

"Please," I beg.

He bites into the skin of my breast, letting the flesh slide out of his mouth

before sucking it back in and laving it with his tongue, catching the nipple

and increasing the tempo at the same time.

I arch into him, pushing more of myself into his mouth, as his hand travels

down to the warmth between my legs. He toys maddeningly with the soft wetness

he finds there, spreading my essence over my own skin, dipping inside me to

collect more, than running his fingers back over my aching bundle of nerves.

"More, Mulder. Please."

He's reduced me to begging. Never in my life have I ever had to ask for this.

Never in my life have I wanted to. This is what he does to me.

He looks into my eyes and smiles and then whispers "I love you" against my

breast, letting me feel the vibrations of his lips tickling the hardness of my

taut nipple.

"Oooh." I manage to get out as his thumb and forefinger pinch my clitoris.

Eloquence has abandoned me at this point, and I am only able to succumb to

basic, primal language.

"Now!"

And then he is inside me, filling me with his cock this time, not his finger.

He is pumping into me, thrusting hard in a rhythm he alone created, and I am

so close to coming.

So close, and it's just enough pressure in all the right places and just

before I fling myself over the precipice, he tells me to open my eyes, and

when I do, I meet his gaze, searing in intensity but clouded by something

else.

And then he's whispering to me, and I see his mouth move before the words sink

in-

< Goodbye, Scully >

"Nooooooooo!" I scream as the picture fades into early dawn, my body heaving

and flushed with sweat, and I realize it's my *own* fingers pumping rapidly

into my body.

Damn it, I'm fucking *myself* on my mother's couch.

I don't know if it's the very thought of it or the remnants of liquor from the

night before- or perhaps both- but I am suddenly fighting off the urge to

vomit, gasping in huge amounts of air as I run towards the bathroom, heaving

the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl.

I close my eyes tight, as the throbbing in my skull takes a dramatic turn

towards jack-hammering, and my stomach threatens to erupt again. My entire

body is sore, the muscles clenching in rebellious disapproval of my late night

drinking.

How the hell could I have done this to myself?

The whispered dripping of the faucet in the bath tub is reverberating through

my entire body, sending it thrumming in pain.

I'm not positive but I think I can stand and carry myself back to bed with out

vomiting again. Not to the couch though.

No, memories of masturbating on my parents' furniture is enough

shame for right now, I don't need to sit and stare at it to make me feel

guilty. Though maybe I should. Maybe that's my penitence for my sin.

And it certainly was a sin. Worse even than Missy making love to that boy

almost twenty-one years ago.

Bless me Father.

When I was in school, the nuns always taught us that self-gratification was

evil, an unhealthy means to a sinful end. We were told we would be giving

ourselves over to lunacy if we acquiesced to "self-pollution".

As a teenager I was frightened by the very idea of it, both of the act itself

as well as the Divine consequences. When I became a doctor it no longer scared

me, for I understood the body to be beautiful, and knowledge of one's own self

imperative for healthy living. But I have never been able to get over the

demoralization of the act.

Satisfied adults should have no use for it, and the unsatiated, and the chaste

should not feel they have to degrade themselves in such a manner to receive

pleasure for a mere matter of seconds. Exploring one's body is one thing, but

the Catholic in me has never allowed me to seek venereal indulgence from it.

Until now.

Damn you, Mulder.

I make my way back into the living room disgusted with my own actions. I avoid

looking at the couch and instead move to the dining table to get my other

bottle of Aleve. I fiddle with the damn child-proof cap for a few minutes, my

motor skills not quite up to par this morning, and finally I am able to

retrieve four pills, which I immediately consume. As an after thought, I move

to the kitchen to fix myself a glass of water, hoping it will help soothe my

raging stomach muscles and allow me to keep my medicine down.

Moving back to the bedrooms, I shut the bathroom door on the way, blocking out

the insistent plop plop of the faucet, so maybe I can rest in peace. I close

the blinds in my room, the small amount of sunlight peeking through still too

bright for my sore eyes.

On a whim, I climb into Melissa's bed instead of my own, pulling the comforter

above my head to block out any interference of sound or light, before saying a

Hail Mary, and then falling hopefully into a dreamless sleep.

  



	7. Crucifying Scully (07/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (07/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter VI: Upon Awakening Comes New Chances

The Lady Anderson

1:22 pm

A shrill noise irritates my slumber and it takes me a few minutes in my

groggy, feverish state to place the sound. It is my cell phone, which I left

somewhere in the living room.

I roll out of bed, a little too quickly as blood rushes to my head, making me

wince and I make my way into the den. The phone manages to ring three more

times before I locate it, and I push the 'ON' button with a sigh, wondering

how many times it had rung before I had awaken.

"Scully." My voice comes out gravelly, sleep permeating it with a soft

whisper, and I have no doubt whoever is on the other line knows they woke me.

"Dana? Where are you, Dear?"

"Hi, Mom. I'm on the boat."

"Are you feeling-"

"I'm fine, Mom." I interrupt, no need to offer any more information than is

quite necessary.

"Yes, I'm sure you are, Honey." She's trying to placate me. "Dana, Assistant

Director Skinner has been trying to get a hold of you for two days. He said

you aren't answering your phone at home and he's been trying your cell phone

all day. He finally called me himself looking for you. Are you sure you're

okay?"

"Yes, Mom. I just wanted to get away for awhile. I must not have heard the

phone ringing. I'm *fine*."

Once more with a little more emphasis.

"Okay Dana, alright. I'll let you get back to your vacation, but please

promise me you'll call if you need anything."

"I will, Mom."

We say our goodbyes and I hang up the phone, debating whether to call Skinner

immediately or make him wait out of pure spite.

My head is still hurting and I'm still a little too angry at the world to

worry about proper Bureau procedures. But there is the professional Scully,

who no matter how many shots of Jose Cuervo, never quite vanishes, and it is

she who I find dialing Skinner's private number by heart and waiting for the

deep-clenched voice to pick up.

"Assistant Director Skinner."

"Sir. It's Scully."

"Agent Scully, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Sir."

Always a favorite reply.

"My mother said you've been trying to reach me?"

"Yes, Agent Scully I was wondering if you could stop by my office today. I

feel there are some things we need to discuss."

"Sir, I'm not really available today. I've decided I need some time off and-"

"Agent Scully, I have no doubt you need a vacation, but it really is urgent

that I speak with you today. Is five o'clock alright with you?"

"Yes, Sir." I sigh, knowing I have no choice. I glance at the clock as I hang

up, calculating how much time I have to get ready and make the drive back to

D.C.

Hurrying through the rooms, I gather my clothes, and various other items,

packing my stuff as I go, and set about making myself presentable.

I have a feeling I won't be returning here for awhile.

****

J. Edgar Hoover Building

Assistant Director

Walter Skinner's Office

4:45 pm

I stand outside Skinner's office, feeling ridiculous in baggy clothes. Jeans

three sizes too big, and a loose cotton blouse that seems to balloon over my

small frame. Both articles of clothing worn before my dramatic, cancer-induced

weight loss.

My headache still remains, though enough Aleve was consumed to dull the edges

somewhat, and the nausea has faded into an aching numbness.

Knowing I'm early and knowing it is what's expected of me, I tap gently on the

sturdy wooden door, allowing my presence to be realized, and I wait.

The door is opened quickly, and I am surprised to find my boss wearing blue

jeans and a sweat shirt. I cannot ever recall seeing him in such casual

attire.

He nods in recognition and opens the door wider allowing my entrance and I

immediately walk towards my usual chair, our past meetings having been

frequent and plentiful enough to establish routine.

He again nods for me to sit and we remain in silence for a few minutes; he

reading a file, and I waiting for him to begin. When it appears he isn't going

to speak, I am forced to start the conversation.

"Sir, you wanted to see-" At the sound of my voice he looks up, and

effectively interrupts me with a raised hand.

"Agent Scully, I did not call you in here today under the pretense of being

your superior. I asked you to come to offer my support."

I arch an eyebrow in patented fashion, silently urging him to continue. He

smiles wanly, acknowledging my curiosity, but seems in no hurry to elaborate.

Some seconds tick by as he is seemingly gathering his thoughts. The thought

flashes through my head again that I have never seen him this at ease with a

subordinate before.

"Agent Scully, Agent Fowley passed away at seven o'clock Saturday morning. She

flat lined twice and was unable to be revived a second time."

I manage to push my first question, my *only* question, past my lips, a

despised desperation seeping through the calm exterior.

"Does Agent Mulder know?"

Skinner hesitates before meeting my gaze and answers with a clenched-jaw,

"Yes."

"So, you've spoken with him."

"Agent Mulder stopped by my office yesterday morning to hand in his letter of

resignation, which I accepted, and he was informed then of Agent Fowley's

death."

I feel the pain rising, unwarranted, to convulse in the back of my throat, but

instead of allowing its escape, I lift my chin and stand up.

"I see, Sir. Is that all you need to tell me?"

I'm making it clear I will not react and that I am very much ready to end this

impromptu meeting of ours.

"Agent Scully, I have not acquired all the details of the matter, but within

the past forty-eight hours the Bureau has lost two very worthy agents, and I

would not like to see a third go to waste. I regret not being able to offer

you the X-Files, though I have a feeling you'd never accept them anyway.

Perhaps, it is for the best that they were closed down, so that now your

talents may be put to a better use."

"Sir-"

"Instead, I'm offering you the opportunity, in light of recent events, to

reassign *yourself* to a new division of the Bureau, in hopes that you will

find yourself better suited and appreciated."

He is allowing me to choose where I will work next, a move never before made

in the Bureau, that I know of.

"What are my options, Sir?"

"Anywhere you choose, Agent Scully."

I see the opportunity to place myself far away from the memories that assail

me here, to get away from it all, and I find my answer quickly, eager for his

reaction.

"Even Hawaii, Sir?"

This brings the corners of his mouth up in a quick smile before he returns to

the consummate, stern-faced superior.

"Even Hawaii, Agent Scully."

This time it is I who is grinning uncharacteristically as I reach my hand

across his desk to consecrate the deal.

"I'll take it, then."


	8. Crucifying Scully (08/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (08/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Book II  
Chapter I: Discontentment Is Wrought From Lack Of Closure

Honolulu Forensic

Pathology Unit

Morgue

4:54pm

I glance at the clock and notice with satisfaction that it is almost five

o'clock and I begin preparing to go home. Not that I have ever minded putting

in a full day's work, but today has been more tiring than others recently, and

I am certainly ready to retreat to the solitude of my own thoughts in my own

home.

Since I transferred six months ago, my days have been filled with countless

autopsies, all of which have been completely mundane, with virtually no

abnormalities, and certainly nothing unexplainable.

Trust me. I've looked.

Each case has been credible, and exegetical, with an emphasis on text book

monotony.

And all boring as hell.

I never realized what almost six years in the X-Files would do to my sense of

adventure. My staff thinks I'm so much the professional that I perform the

autopsy and then re-examine the body looking for mistakes. In reality, my

second examination is performed with an eye to the paranormal, an unbreakable

habit I picked up a long the way.

Despite my vainest efforts though, nothing covert is ever revealed except

entry and exit wounds, illegal toxins, and the occasional fractured femur.

I'm in charge of twenty subordinates, all eager men and women, who are just as

stoic and unfaltering as myself.

You have to be, to be in this profession.

I have my own office with a name plate- Dr. Scully- and my very own desk. I

never make my own coffee anymore, and if I do not wish to perform an autopsy

or fill out a report, I have an assortment of employees from which to choose

who can handle the job decently and appropriately.

When I leave at night I go home to a rustic, beach front cottage with a wrap-

around porch and a white picket fence. I have a lazy Cocker Spaniel named

Ishmael who greets me at the door everynight around five-thirty.

Like clockwork.

I'm dating a cardiovascular surgeon named Gregg. It isn't love, but he treats

me the way I've always fantasized about, and never had the opportunity to ask

for.

He calls me Dana.

I have my routines, my organization, my status. I have everything I always

told myself I needed to be happy.

I should be happy. I should be completely satisfied with my life.

I have a home, a pet, a good lover, and a successful career, and not one of

these things is in danger of being consumed by an X-File.

I have never been more miserable.

The winter of my discontent.

I am ashamed to be so ungrateful for all I have been blessed with. My sensible

rationale tells me to enjoy it, accept it, cherish it.

My heart tells me it isn't enough.

How can it be enough, when you shared yourself so completely with another

human being, and then had no closure whatsoever when it was over.

When I was fighting my cancer, I accepted my mortality. Though I could not

bear to leave my work, my *life*, there was something comforting in such an

unjust situation, that at least I would be able to prepare myself. I could say

good-bye to the X-Files and to my family, and know that all my affairs were in

order before I died, rather than never having that opportunity for closure.

I didn't get that chance with Mulder.

Mulder left *me*.

Gregg would never leave me. I won't have to say goodbye to Gregg unless it is

my choice.

I consider all this, as is my usual routine, on the drive home from work. And

just like every other day, I come to the conclusion that I will be more

determined to be happy. If I focus a little bit more tomorrow, maybe I'll

achieve my goal.

I pull into my driveway and smile as I notice Ishmael already at the French

doors waiting for me.

This is my home now.

****

Scully's House

2:19am

I lie in the dark and watch the pale shadows play across Gregg's face. We made

love twice tonight- long, slow, and passionate- Gregg's consideration of my

body is better than average but not quite mind-numbing in effect. I do not

climax everytime, but then, achieving orgasm has never been extremely high on

my priorities. And only a mediocre percentage of women are able to climax

*ever*, anyways. Besides, there are so many more important things to be

accomplished that personal satisfaction has always seemed rather vain to me.

Gregg begins to stir and I bring my hands up from my sides to his chest and

begin to draw lazy circles on his pectorals, furthering him along in his

effort for consciousness. He smiles and encircles me in his arms. Before I

even realize he is fully awake, he's already kissing me, hands moving over my

body, finding soft spots he's already discovered months before.

I feel him growing hard against my belly, and I move in closer to him,

trapping his length between our bodies. His hands move to my back, fingers

gripping me to him, anchoring me to his kiss.

I swing one leg high over his stomach, letting him nestle in between my

thighs. He answers me with a groan, and a sweeping hand across my back. I

fight the urge to tense in his arms.

He's too close to that spot.

*Mulder's* spot, my brain provides. So, I move his hand forward and upward,

till my breast fills his cupped palm, and I whisper, "Touch me." against his

mouth.

He smiles into our kiss again, and he *does* begin to touch me, bringing my

tired body to awareness by massaging and kissing and thrusting into me, a slow

burn building inside my body and I know what I need to set it aflame.

I try to quicken the pace, thrusting my body against his in a more frantic

version of before, hoping he will respond in the same manner. Instead his

hands find my waist and with the slightest amount of pressure- not enough to

hurt, but enough for me to know his intention- he holds me to the bed,

stilling the movements of my hips. I groan against his lips, feeling it

reverberate through our bodies.

"Faster. I want it faster."

He chuckles, his mouth sending tiny vibrations against my skin, and he refuses

me, saying,

"No, Dana. You deserve it slow. You deserve to be cherished like this."

I want to argue with him, let him know I don't always need a flowers-and-candy

romance, that sometimes I need it rough and frantic, so I can know I am still

alive, but he's claimed my mouth again and instead he treats me to an

agonizing seduction, my entire body tingling with such a strong desire, but he

never allows me to find my release. He knows how to turn me on, but he doesn't

often follow through.

When he comes, with a shuddering sigh, I manage to fake it for him, glad for

the opportunity to allow my body to cool off, to ease the steady thrumming

inside me, by concentrating on something, *anything*, else until I am

distracted enough to find sleep.

He whispers, "I love you, Dana," against my forehead, where he's cradled me in

our- his, whatever- afterglow.

Despite my lack of climax, I smile against his chest, letting him know I

appreciate the sentiment.

You love me, I think, and suddenly, I'm weary, deep in my soul. When I should

be elated at hearing the words most people spend a lifetime yearning to hear,

I feel as I've been weighted down with the brutal impact of a harsh reality.

You love me.

But do you *know* me?


	9. Crucifying Scully (09/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (09/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter II: Attraction Eases The Ache Of Restlessness

Scully's House

8:50am

"I know what you're thinking."

Gregg is looking at me across the breakfast table, I'm buried in the morning

newspaper, and the surety in his voice creates a sudden thrum in my neck as my

head jerks up.

Please don't let it be written all over my face.

"Bill Clinton is a self-absorbed, womanizing lecher, who should be castrated

and then displayed in front of the National Organization for Women's

headquarters?"

Ok, so that was my attempt at humor in order to distance myself from what I

was really thinking of.

He lets out a short, polite bark of laughter at my joke. I can never determine

if it's a *real* laugh, or merely one of courtesy.

He smiles and shakes his head. "No, Dana. You're thinking our lives are too

mundane, too practical-"

Oh God.

How did he *do* that?

Before I can utter a word of protest he shakes his head emphatically, and

holds up a hand to silence me.

"You are. You're getting restless. I could tell last night. You're bored. And

I know just what you need."

I blink a few times trying to determine where this is leading, then finally

decide to take the bait.

I raise my eyebrow noncommittally, and the corners of my mouth quirk up.

"And what might that be?"

His smile widens, and suddenly I feel as if I've just fallen into a trap, as

he raises two tickets in the air, and waves them in front of my face.

"Passes for two strung-out doctors in need of a quiet round of golf on the

Shady Meadows Country Club Luxury Course. All expenses paid. They were sent to

my office yesterday and I thought they would be perfect for us!"

Oh.

Great.

I hate golf.

I *hate* country clubs.

I smile.

I lie.

"That sounds wonderful!"

"Great! Go get ready! We're supposed to be on the course in three hours."

"Oh. We're going *now*?"

"Yeah, yeah, it'll be great! Don't worry if you can't play well, I'll show you

some of my tricks! Now go!"

He winks at me before patting my hand, and then jumping up himself to go get

dressed. I bite my lip to keep from saying my thoughts out loud, and slowly

get up to straighten the kitchen.

I've just been manipulated into agreeing to spend the afternoon playing golf

with my boyfriend, even though I despise the sport, and was actually looking

forward to doing some things around my house today.

I know I made a commitment to myself to enjoy this new life, and whatever it

has in store for me. It's not settling. It's not second best. It's the life I

always wanted.

I just cannot figure out what the hell was wrong with me.

No.

Don't think like that.

This is good. It's stable, it's safe, and it's nice.

I can live with nice. I can.

I will.

I go into my bathroom to shower and get ready, shedding my clothes along the

way, and hoping Gregg will at least feel the impulse to join me in the shower

and make my morning a little more entertaining.

He doesn't, of course, because he has an unspoken rule, I think, that he can

only make love in the bedroom.

That's fine.

I've decided God likes His children to break the rules, because when they

don't, when they live their entire lives playing by the book, He sends someone

who's even more of a stickler into their lives to show them what they gave up.

That would be Gregg. I've never met anyone else more straight-laced than me.

I am not complaining. Gregg has his moments. He's incredibly considerate of

me. He cooks me dinner. He *likes* my dog. He buys me roses. Aside from the

occasional bouquet from my family when I was in the hospital, I haven't

received flowers from a man since I dated Jack Willis.

Flowers are *nice*.

A stray thought reminds me that "Superstars of the Superbowls" is nice too.

Better than nice. Amusing, actually. Endearing.

Fettucine Alfredo dinners with white wine, and new potatoes are good.

Apollo key chains are functional.

Golf is fine.

Relaxing.

I need this. I do.

I'll enjoy this, because I am spending some quality time with the man I. . .

sleep with, and I need a break from my habitual routines.

I've finished my shower and have gotten dressed, and Gregg's standing in the

doorway waiting for me to finish my makeup, silently hurrying me along with

subtle glances at his watch and slightly inaudible sighs.

And then we're leaving to play golf.

****

Scully's House

7:14 pm

I have learned several beneficial facts for my future reference.

One, Golf is a long, slow game.

Two, do *not* go look for your stray balls inside the woods.

Three, Gregg gets *excited* when playing golf.

I realized the first two the hard way. The last was a rather interesting

result of Gregg standing behind me, showing me how to swing my golf club; a

technique which obviously involves our hips melded together and his mouth

occasionally grazing the nape of my neck.

Now we're back at my house, sitting on my porch looking out at the vast ocean,

Gregg's arms around me, and I am suddenly enlightened.

I *can* enjoy this. This may not be what I am used to or what I want, but it

isn't horrible, and I know that plenty of people would be incredibly envious

of all that I have. It may not be as adrenaline-pumping as chasing consortiums

and alien abductees, but I can live this way. It really does feel good to sit

in a man's arms and smell the ocean air, and not worry about my dog being

consumed by an alligator.

Maybe I can still love Mulder and my life before, and yet still be apart of

this life. Maybe, I have been afraid to let myself enjoy this because I didn't

want to give up my past. But do I really have to?

For a long time, I lived my life in fear of tomorrow, it was a struggle to

make it through the day without getting hurt, or kidnapped, or almost dying.

Now, I am living in the past, always comparing what I have now with what I

could have had, when I should be concentrating, for once, on the future.

That's what Gregg is. He's my future.

I feel almost relieved at this new insight, and decide I should share the

feeling with the man who's playing with my hair, and rubbing my arm

simultaneously.

I shift in his arms so that I can face him, and rise up so that I can reach

his neck where I place a wet kiss just below his ear lobe.

"Gregg?" I whisper before I take the above-mentioned lobe into my mouth with a

slight sucking motion, a technique I know this man enjoys.

I've never been good with sharing my emotions so instead I decide on seducing

him with my body, and hope he can interpret what I need him to know.

I move to straddle his lap, my hands moving to his hair, as my tongue traces a

path up his jaw, finally connecting with his, and making it blatantly clear

what I am suggesting.

"Dana, let's go inside."

"No. I want it here."

"Dana-"

I stop his protest with a much harder kiss, thrusting my tongue inside the

heated damp of his mouth, and then pulling back just as quickly.

"No one will see us. Please."

I need him to help me consecrate my promise, to help me forget the other man

who constantly fills my mind with his presence.

It takes more of my mouth and hands to convince him that it is alright for him

to take me out here, that I will make sure he enjoys it as much as I will, and

finally he gives in and begins touching me as well.

Lazily, I remove my clothes first, reveling in the feel of my naked body

pressed against his covered one, and then I begin on his with more of an

urgency, till at last we are skin to skin and I am slowly brought down on his

length.

I sigh as I move against him, feeling the warmth pass through me, and I know

with this position I will make it, if I just clench my muscles at the right

time, focusing the tension into the bundle of nerves rotating with the

friction of his body moving with mine.

The ocean rises inside me, imitating the one lapping at the rocks beyond me,

and with a shuddering sigh I help my lover find his release.


	10. Crucifying Scully (10/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (10/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter III: Engagement Satisfies A Human Need

Scully's House

6:31 pm

Two months have passed since that night on my deck, and I seem to have

accomplished my desired objective. I have spent more time focusing on my life

with Gregg, accepting its faults and foibles but also relishing in its

simplicity and normalcy.

Gregg is a wonderful man.

Tonight is 'date night'. Yes, we have a date night. Yes, it is predictable,

but it is also very important to me for us to keep this routine. It is

certainly something to look forward to and it allows me the opportunity to

catch up on all those wonderous evenings missed when I was chasing little gray

men from Reticulan. The idea that I actually date now is amazing to me,

because I never *really* dated much before the X-Files.

I have had several lovers, probably not enough to even consider me

promiscuous, but certainly more than either of my parents had.

Seven to be exact.

Only *one* one-night stand.

It just is not my style. Despite my clinical detachment from all things

emotional, I will admit to myself that I adore being in a relationship with a

man. I *enjoy* going out with a man.

And that is why I proclaimed every Thursday night 'Date Night', ridiculous as

it may sound.

Gregg said to dress elegantly, so I have chosen a floor-length, black satin

dress, sleeveless, with matching opera-length gloves.

The neckline dips down enough to show a fair amount of cleavage, and as for

the rest of the dress, I might as well have poured myself inside. My hair is

up in corkscrew curls that frame my face, and just rests against the soft baby

hairs of my neck. I add a pair of 'come-and-get-it' shoes and the ensemble is

now complete, a drastic change from what I usually wear.

I personally delight in the stunning transformation and the secret

satisfaction that Gregg will too.

I enjoy dressing up for a man, not necessarily to impress or please, but more

to arouse I suppose. It is a powerful feeling to

know the affect a woman has on a man.

I grab my purse and leave the bedroom to join him in the living room, where he

is waiting in a tuxedo that absolutely takes my breath away.

From the look on is face when he sees me I know he feels the same way.

With pride, and a tiny glimmer of a smile, I wrap my arm around his own, and

we set out for whatever the night has in store for us.

****

The Plaza Hotel

8:09 pm

There is no better wine, no better food, and there are no better kisses than

those experienced in the epitome of luxury hotels on an island paradise.

Under ordinary circumstances I am a woman of unpretentious desires, but there

is something to be said of the complete exquisiteness of elaborate hotels, so

vastly different from the motels I used to endure on many a case-trip.

Dinner was exquisite; heady red wine accompanied the filet mignon and steamed

vegetables, and now Gregg and I are feeding each other the White Chocolate

Charlotte, which in itself is a completely erotic tableau, not even

considering the sheer sinfulness of the dessert.

I watch Gregg pluck a Lady Finger from the bottom of the dessert, and then

bring it to my lips, spreading the raspberry sauce slightly on my bottom lip

before nudging my mouth apart to offer me the delicate cookie.

A shimmer of warmth passes through me at his heated gaze and my tongue slips

out to pull in a nibble of the small treat, before then swiping the sauce,

running my tongue back over the now-clean lips.

"Dana." He groans while his eyes widen and dilate simultaneously.

I reach down for my own Lady Finger to offer, but as I bring it to his mouth

he captures my wrist with one hand, and pries the cookie out of it with his

other hand.

Somewhat startled, I meet his gaze which has now taken on a new emotion and I

feel a lump rising in my throat.

"Dana." He says my name again, and not for the first time I think how strange

it is to *be* Dana once more.

He continues to hold my hand, stroking his thumb along the hyper-sensitive

skin of my palm, as he moves out of his chair and onto the floor, kneeling in

front of me.

I can feel my eyes widening of their own accord, and the eyebrows arching,

naturally.

Oh my God.

He is *not* doing what I think he is.

His hand, the one free of mine, is reaching into his pants' pocket and pulling

out a velveteen box.

He *is* doing what I think he is. Am I ready for this?

"Dana? I, um. . .I-"

The poor man is stuttering like a small child, and I lift my hand to his face,

cupping his cheek, in a hopefully soothing gesture.

He takes a deep breath and tries again.

"Dana, the last couple of months have been wonderful for me, and I just cannot

imagine my life without you in it. I have something I want you to have-"

He opens the tiny box to reveal, not only a Tiffany's logo, but perhaps the

most stunning cluster of diamonds and rubies I have ever seen in my entire

life.

Never have I received such an astonishingly extravagant gift, and

I feel tears gathering behind my lids, as he continues.

"- and I want you to be my wife."

Oh God. He did it. He really asked me to marry him. It's done.

"Gregg-"

"No, Dana. You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever had the pleasure of

knowing, and you are as equally brilliant as you are beautiful. It would be my

honor to spend the rest of my life with you, but regardless of how you answer

me, I want you to have this gift, because I love you."

His eyes betray the calm on his face, and I cannot help but run my thumb over

his lower lip, before leaning in to kiss him.

Is this a proposal I can turn down? For some reason I don't think it is, I

think it might finally be time. I think I am ready to settle down with a

husband and maybe adopt a few children. I have waited so long for this chance,

and true, Gregg is not the man I had originally thought I would the rest of my

life with, but I *do* care for him. This is what I want out of life now, and

this is my opportunity to take it.

I nod my head slightly into the kiss, and Gregg pulls away, leaving us both

breathless and heavy-lidded.

"What is it, Dana?"

I take a deep breath and nod my head again, this time a full-blown smile

stretches across his face, and it makes *me* smile.

"Yes." I say simply, just to say it aloud, before Gregg stands up, pulling me

with him and into his embrace. And amidst the laughing and hugging, I notice

everyone in the restaurant is watching us, but I suddenly don't care because

you only get to have this moment once, and I have waited my whole life for it.

Then I feel Gregg's mouth nuzzling mine and we meet in a celebratory kiss as

our forgotten onlookers join in a round of frenzied applause and whistling.

The kiss seems to last for several minutes, Gregg holding me tightly around

the waist as my fingers played in his hair. I'm sure we make the perfect

picture of engaged bliss, and I find myself getting excited about the very

idea of it.

The next thing I am aware of is my fiance- *my fiance*- dragging me to the

dance floor and enveloping me in his arms as the orchestra begins a slow

ballad, and we find our rhythm quickly, not really concerning ourselves with

the appropriate placement of hands and feet, but rather just moving gently to

the soft strains.

This is so very nice, it having been so long since I danced this way with

anyone that I can't even recall the last time clearly.

Gregg pulls away slightly, enough to stay close while he takes my face in his

hands and then whispers,

"You're going to be *my* wife."

I have to smile at his wonder, the tears filling my eyes instantly as the

realization dawns on me.

A wife. I'm going to be some one's wife.

I never really thought of it in that context before. Of course, I always

considered being married, having a husband and a family, but I have never

really given much thought of the actual part I will play in it. It's amazing,

an unreal responsibility, one in which I wasn't sure I was ready for but am

looking forward to.

"I love you."

He leans down toward me, just brushing my lips with his before drawing away

again, and continuing our swaying embrace.

Gregg loves me, and I am going to be his wife.

I am still in awe as he mumbles something against the top of my head, my hair

muffling his words. I'm the one to step back this time, asking him to repeat

himself with a small grin.

"I said let's stay here tonight. I brought some extra clothes for the both of

us, just in case."

I nod my head again, my smile getting bigger as the thought of spending an

entire evening in this glorious hotel warms me.

"Okay." I agree, and then I initiate another small kiss as he guides me out of

the restaurant and towards the front desk.

I wait patiently by his side as he fills out the guest sign-in forms, ignoring

the admiring glances of the concierge, marveling still in the dramatic turn of

events my life has just taken on.

When he is done, Gregg turns to me telling me he is going with the bellhop to

get our bags and that he will return shortly. I agree to wait in the lobby for

him, and he marks his departure with yet another quick kiss.

I cross over to an ornate mirror on a nearby wall, staring at my reflection,

amazed at the look on my face. The dark circles that used to rest under my

eyes have long vanished, the worry which used to be so evident can no longer

be seen. I look younger than I have in quite a few years, happier even, in a

vague sort of way.

Perhaps happiness is not so much of a feeling as it is an evolution of the

mind, a transformation of sorts, in which change brings about a surrounding

peace.

The woman looking back at me is startling; she has been absent for so very

long. I know now my decisions have been the right ones because they have made

me a better person. I feel free for the first time in my life, and the thought

thrills me.

As I stare at myself in the glass, fiddling with an errant curl here and

there, I feel as if I'm being watched. I stiffen slightly, a reflexive habit,

but then I take a deep breath, figuring it is only Gregg watching me from

across the room.

*A wife*.

This is what love feels like. How did I mistake that, before? What I thought

must be love, compared to this warming ember inside me, that I can almost see

radiating from me? It is not the romantic rush so many dime-store novels would

have one believe. It's simply biological, a combination of hormones and

chemicals surging through the body at opportune intervals. Cause and effect.

Catalyst and reactant. Mind over matter. I am in love because I have chosen to

be, because I feel the time is right. Because I am with a man that loves me

and isn't afraid to tell me so.

I can't keep the smile off my face as I turn to face my fiance, ready to

consummate this new level of our relationship. I scan the room quickly for

Gregg, my eyes traveling the area until they land on a solitary man, standing

out in his business suit against the black-tie backdrop of the hotel's other

male patrons, staring at me as if I'm the last person on this earth.


	11. Crucifying Scully (11/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (11/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter IV: Past Converges With Future To Form Present

The Plaza

8:54 pm

Oh.

My.

God.

My purse drops to the floor, unnoticed, and I feel as if cold water has just

been thrown directly into my face. I blink once trying to dispel the image

before me, hoping it is my mind and not reality.

But *he* is still there.

Oh my God.

This isn't real. This can't be. Not now.

Oh, please God, not *now*.

What is he doing here?

He's walking towards me, a strange look on his face, and I cannot move, I

feel as if I'm paralyzed with shock and maybe a tiny bit of fear.

I can only stare, mouth agape, at this man whom I've tried so hard to forget.

He's only a few feet a way from me now, and he brings his hand to my arm, but

the contact is almost painful, and I pull back with a violent jerk.

"Scully."

I don't even feel it happening, don't even realize I am that *close*, and it

is not until after my fist connects with his jaw that it even dawns on me the

rage I still have inside.

He is standing there, glaring at me, and the bastard doesn't even give me the

satisfaction of rubbing his damn jaw, and this infuriates me even more, so I

do it again, this time on purpose and I savor the loud crack as my flesh meets

his.

This time he does respond, choosing to do so with actions instead of words. He

grabs the hand that just hit him and uses his advantage to pull me close to

him.

Too close.

He's holding me against him, arms snaked around my waist, his body pressing

urgently against mine.

And I can *feel* him, damn it.

I try to push him away, my fists pummeling rapidly against his chest but it

obviously doesn't phase him, his lips seeking out mine before I can form any

type of defense.

For one second of my life, I am back in his apartment on that night, crystal

clear in my memory, reveling in the moment of being with him. But the glory is

short-lived and soon it morphs into the searing anger and hurt that I have

been dealing with for too long.

This time I catch him unaware as I push myself away from him and he almost

stumbles backwards from the impact.

Almost.

He manages to stay upright and the glare he's wearing intensifies, perhaps

mirroring that on my own face.

"How *dare* you have the nerve to find me after all these months and then kiss

me like you have the fucking right." I hiss, my fists clenching, just aching

to hit him again.

"I didn't have to find you, *Dr.* Scully." He spits out. "I've known where you

were all along."

He knew.

As a doctor I never realized it was possible for the body to go completely and

simultaneously numb, every nerve splitting like an atom to release explosions

of anesthesia throughout my every cell.

His words are callous, shocking in their spitefulness, and for a moment I can

only stare at him in disbelief. I had told myself he couldn't, wouldn't be

able to find me.

Instead, he didn't want to.

I suppose had I been honest with myself, I would have known all along how easy

it would have been for him. He is angry now, and even though I have every

right to be, I feel my wrath weaken until I'm left only with this dead cold

inside my body.

I unconsciously take another step back, suddenly unsure of anything except the

tears starting to form, and I know that he *cannot* see me cry.

He must mistake my retreat for fear because instantly his countenance softens;

I can see the shift in his demeanor.

"Scully."

It's a whisper this time, and with it enters a nameless emotion, slithering in

like an adder, waiting for that deadly moment when it will strike.

He is almost tender now as he tries to gather me back into his arms, but I'm

resisting. Tugging against his pull. Shaking my head furiously, but it feels

like real-time.

"No, Mulder. No more."

"We need to talk."

He's demanding now, accusing, as if I'm the one who left him hours after we

had consummated our relationship.

"I don't want to hear it."

I turn away from him but again he grabs my arm, this time with a vice-grip,

unwilling to let me go.

"You never did."

Before I can respond to the malice in his voice, he's being pulled away from

me, and I don't even have time to realize it is Gregg, nor do I have time to

stop him from hitting Mulder himself.

He hits the ground before Gregg's name escapes from my throat and suddenly the

room starts to spin as the security guards rush over to break up a supposed-

impending fight, and I realize Mulder's lip is bleeding, a bruise already

starting to form on his jaw.

Gregg is assuring the guards the situation is fine, slipping them each a

twenty dollar bill as he convinces them to leave us alone. I make the mistake

of looking into Mulder's eyes and almost drown in the emotion there.

His eyes.

Urging me to listen one more time, to forgive him of so many things, to

understand.

Gregg's voice, "I don't know who you are but you better stay the hell away

from my fiancee!"

I see pain now, mixed with anger and a contempt for Gregg and maybe me also. I

rest my hand on Gregg's shoulder, trying to calm him in his fury.

"It's alright, Gregg. This is my ex-partner, Fox Mulder."

An emphasis on the "ex" met with a glowering stare from Mulder.

"I don't care who he is, if he touches you again, I'll kill him."

"Gregg! Stop! I can take care of myself!"

Ironic that the words I used repeatedly to distance myself from Mulder are now

concerning him.

"I know you can, Dana, but-"

"No, Gregg. Just stop."

I pull him away from where we were standing so I can speak to him privately.

Assuring him I am fine, that I *do* need to talk to Mulder alone, whispering

promises to him until he begrudgingly agrees to go up to our room and wait for

me. I kiss him on the cheek one more time and watch him leave before turning

to Mulder again.

He tries to say something but I raise my hand to silence him, and he nods his

understanding. And then I silently lead him out of the lobby to the small

patio outside.

I look out over the gardens that surround the hotel while Mulder stands

quietly behind me. A slight breeze travels around us, carrying with it the

salt of ocean mixed with the sugar of flowers and a hint of Mulder's cologne.

Intoxicating.

It's not quite as chilly out here as it is on the beach. I can hear the

distant waves beating against the rocks, the sway of the palms lining the

grounds of the hotel. I feel drugged by the languid stillness and we both let

some time pass before speaking, each deciding where to begin, what to say. It

is I who breaks the spell first, finally asking him the one question I have so

longed to have answered.

"Why did you leave?"

It sits there for a minute, heavy in the thick air; a hard question to voice,

an easy one to answer.

"I had to. I had to find out the truth."

I nod my head, understanding. I was expecting that, but he didn't answer my

question. He avoided any deeper significance by stating the obvious, reciting

his farewell letter. I'll try again. I finally turn to face him, needing to

see his face for this next one.

"Why did you leave *me*?"

There it is. I can see him tense at the question. I am forcing him to be

honest in a way neither of us has ever been before. He is still silent,

staring over my shoulder; he seems to be contemplating his response and my

reaction to it. But I already know what it will be, so I give it for him.

"I would have held you back."

His gaze suddenly locks on mine, unwavering in its intensity, but still he

does not speak. I'm offering him understanding and clarity with my words and

he dares not dispute me.

"You needed to believe in what they were selling you. You didn't need me there

to discourage that. Because I wouldn't have let you lose yourself in them."

"Yes."

His eyes concede to the truth, and I am thankful for his honesty even if it is

painful. One more question; a serve, a volley, and the ball is in his court.

"Did you find what you needed?"

A glimpse of defeat and then he lowers his head, affirmation and a hesitance

to reveal. I close the remaining distance and take his hand carefully, like so

many times before, my comfort to his withdrawal.

"Tell me."

He looks back up, determination filling his gaze and then he leads me over to

the iron chairs on the other side of the patio. We sit and I watch him breathe

deeply, struggling with so many things to say and not knowing where to start.

I give him the time he needs knowing when he is able he will tell me

everything. It's always been that way, for all his mistakes he has always been

completely honest with me when I've demanded it.

Finally, he faces me, takes a deep breath and begins this tale which has taken

so much out of both of us. I am not surprised when he starts the story with

that night so long ago, the night when we lost the X-files.

"I knew when we were in the office I had to leave. You were holding me, and a

part of me just wanted to stay that way forever, in your arms. But I couldn't

think about that, I could only focus on the smell of defeat. We had been so

close, damn it!"

His voice is angry, the words gritting out through clenched teeth, and I am

back there with him, the memory so clear even though it's been eight months.

He is no longer meeting my gaze.

"I saw the pity in your eyes when you walked in, the loss and pain were there

too. I didn't want you to look at me like that, like you were scared it would

be too much. You came right up to me and put your arms around me, actually

letting me touch you. And it was too much. You felt sorry for me, and I knew

then I had to leave, no matter what else happened."

I don't know if I am relieved to find out his mind had been made up before we

made love or not. That tiny insecure part of me is happy to know he didn't

leave because of me, of what we did. But it also hurts a great deal to know he

allowed it to happen anyways, when he had every intention of leaving.

He must sense my thoughts because he quickly continues.

"You came to me again that night, offering yourself to me in a way you never

had before, and I had to know it wasn't the pity again, not like in the

office. I had already made up mind to leave, and I should have been strong

enough to hold out. I had not planned on making love to you that night, hadn't

even considered it until it happened. I didn't. . . I never meant to use you

like that, Scully. I know it must have seemed that way to you, and I'm so

sorry that hurt you."

"It did hurt, Mulder. You did a lot of things to hurt me. But it was my

decision and I don't regret it."

He glances at me again before looking out over the gardens, I'm guessing he is

contemplating what I just said and what it means.

Mulder and I making love did not change our relationship. It was merely an

extension of the intimacy between us. It is only the words, few though they

may be, that make the difference.

"I couldn't have stopped it though, Scully. Not even if I had wanted to. You

were all I had left."

This time it is I who is regarding his words. He managed to say so much in

such a small sentence.

"The next morning I woke up and for just a moment, contemplated staying with

you. I tried to tell myself the world was safe as long as I was with you but

it wasn't, Scully. They were still out there."

He is vehement now, a fierceness in his voice that belies the expression on

his face.

"Leaving you that morning was the hardest thing I've ever done. As quiet as I

tried to be, I kept hoping you'd wake up and stop me but I knew it was best

you didn't. I went to Skinner's office to slip my resignation under the door--

I've had it ready for years-- but he caught me and called me into his office.

He told me about Diana, and also gave me some advice on where to start

looking. He wanted to know what you were gonna do, since I was leaving. I

guess he figured resignation might have been your decision as well. I told him

I wasn't sure about you but to make sure your talents were used to the fullest

capacity. I've kept in touch with him over the past months. He's been

instrumental in my quest, and he's also kept me informed of your progression

in the Bureau."

I nod, eager to hear the rest of the details, to know what has brought him

here tonight.

"I used my inheritance to fund my search, almost draining with my trips around

the world. I have enough frequent flyer miles on my account to circle the

globe a few times."

I smile at the thought, knowing he's done exactly that over the last year. He

continues to tell me of the places he been and the things he's seen; Russia,

Antarctica, Africa-- a dozen other places-- coming closer each time until he

was finally able to piece it together. He is speaking softly now, the words

coming slower as he fights the emotion threatening to break forth.

"My father staged her abduction, Scully. He made my mother choose between us,

which one she wanted more, and she choose Samantha because she wasn't his

daughter. She didn't want him to know about her affair with the Smoking Man so

she gave up the only proof against her. And then he took *her* and gave her

over to these men so they could test her for their viruses and their vaccines.

She was used as a lab rat because our mother was too much of a coward.

Sometimes it isn't just the sins of the father, Scully."

I am shocked at this woman's ability to sacrifice her child, to willingly turn

her over to pure evil without any conviction whatsoever. My only chance at a

child was stolen from me for the very same cause and there isn't a day that

goes by that I wouldn't sell my soul to get her back.

"It seems the Smoking Man was quite a charmer with other women, not just my

mother. He had an affair with Cassandra Spender, too. Jeffrey Spender is

Samantha's half-brother. That's why Cassandra was "abducted" again." Here he

uses finger quotes to emphasize the word 'abducted'.

"She knew too much."

He nods his head in agreement. There is so much he's learned, so many things

that must hurt him so much. I wish I could have been

with him to help him cope. I wish he would have let me.

"*You* weren't taken just so they could extract your ova, Scully. As a sort of

consolation prize you were injected with a small amount of the virus to act as

a vaccine. They did the same to me when I contracted the retorvirus.

Congratulations, Scully. You and I are both immune."

The dry humor in his words does nothing to mask the bitterness in his voice.

"We're immune? From what, Mulder?"

He looks doubtfully at me, it's as if he doesn't even want to tell me this

next part.

"Alien colonization. You and I are a few of the lucky fools chosen to

cohabitate the planet with human beings' greatest Enemy. If we survive the

complete destruction that will ensue, that is."

"Mulder?"

"It's true, Scully. That's why they've wanted to kill us so many times. They

don't want the aliens to know about the vaccine until it's time for the

colonization to begin. They want to save it for *themselves*. They want to

destroy evidence of their crimes. The abductions, the clones, anyone who was

inadvertently involved with the Project. We pose a threat to their secret. We

are walking proof. That's why they gave you the cancer. Why the microchip

healed you. They can kill you, or they can control you."

I don't know how to respond to the anger in his voice. What he is telling me

is so impossible and yet I know it's the truth. I don't want to believe it,

but I've learned to put nothing past these people. And since Gibson Praise, I

have become more open to unfathomable possibilities.

Before I can share this with Mulder though, I've noticed he's become

withdrawn, staring at the sky with a look of pure torture on his face.

Alarmed, I place my hand on his cheek, bringing him to face me once more.

"What is it, Mulder?"

He stares at me a long time, and I am frightened by the look of sadness on his

face. When he speaks, it is an eerie sound, ghostly in the dense air of late

evening/early morning.

"There is something else."

My brow furrows in confusion and fear for this man. What could possibly be

worse than anything else he's said to me, what could have possibly shattered

him this much, succeeding where nothing else has?

Still holding his face in one hand, cupping his cheek as he has done to me so

many times, I let my other hand find one of his in the darkness, and I give it

a gentle squeeze, urging him to continue.

"They. . . my. . . when I had the virus, after they gave me the vaccine. . .

they took a sample of my sperm. They needed a specimen that was immune so they

could use it to fertilize an immune egg. . ."

He pauses, waiting for it to sink in. I watch him closely, trying to determine

if I've heard him right, if what he's telling me is the truth. Of course it

is, but that would mean-

"No."

I shake my head, feeling the tears welling in my eyes, the anger building in

my chest.

"No, Mulder, no."

He's been through so much, so much loss and pain, please don't let this mean

what I think it means. But even as I pray it, I know it to be true. It's the

final punch line in a series of cruel jokes.

His hands come to my face, wiping the tears away before cradling my head in

his palms. His eyes are watering too, and his voice finally breaks as he

confirms it.

"Emily was my daughter too."


	12. Crucifying Scully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter V: Embracing Comfort Soothes The Heart

The Plaza Patio

12:52am

"Oh, Mulder."

I pull him to me, and then we both cry, for the first time together, over our

losses and all the tragedy we've been forced to deal with. This is why he came

back to me. To tell me. I needed to know, and we needed each other. He needed

me because I knew this private loss so well, I would understand him. There is

no pride left between us, nothing to hide from the other. There is no longer

any room for secrets between us now. We show each other our deepest suffering

as we hold onto one another, clinging for strength and needing assurance from

each other.

Holding on to save our lives.

And for a time we forget. Our hugs turn to kisses, and we are lost in the feel

of each other; touching, not to arouse but to comfort.

To soften.

To heal.

It is passionate, but not erotic. When he touches my left breast, it is not

to stimulate but to feel the beating of my heart. I mirror his action, placing

my own hand on his chest, and we kiss

some more. We are weak for each other; we cannot stop this.

When he draws away from me, chest heaving under my fingertips, pleading with

me to stay with him, I cannot argue. I cannot deny this man who has lost

everything, just as he could not deny me before.

He leads me to his own room. It is late and we have the elevator to ourselves,

and still we kiss.

He stops touching me long enough to let me in his room, not even bothering to

let the door shut completely before drawing me back in his embrace.

Kissing.

Hot.

Kissing.

Wet.

Kissing.

Drowning.

We are lost in each other, in this beautiful affirmation of life. It is a

confirmation of need. A coalescence of pain and sheer energy.

A fusion of bodies in denial and acceptance.

We have no control over this as we have no control over anything else in our

lives. Ending this would kill us, shatter us beyond repair. We must seek

solace with each other before we can find it within ourselves.

Clothes are shed, bodies melded together in numbing heat. We thrust against

each other, in each other; gently, to numb, then fiercely, to feel again.

Eyes locked. Hands holding each other above my head on the pillow. Legs

entwined in a lover's embrace.

Forgetting.

There is no Emily, no Samantha, no lies, no Gregg.

It is merely us, in a celebration of survival. Of everything we've fought, and

our victories of life.

We are not struggling to climax, the need to be one more prominent than the

need for completion. Our movements are sure, long, lasting eternally. Any

other night this would have been any woman's dream, but tonight it is more

about giving then receiving. And when the end does come, washing over us in

one giant tidal wave of emotion, we reach orgasm together.

****

Mulder's Room

2:14am

"I have to go to him tonight. He's waiting."

My voice in the darkness. Mulder turns me to face him where we lay in our

post-coital return. Hands linked together, a constant connection.

"Do you love him?"

"I tried. I tried so hard."

"Why?"

I search for his eyes, and even in the dark I can sense the doubt.

"I wanted to forget you. It was impossible. You're a part of me."

I can see him nod, relieved at the answer, knowing it to be true. He leans

over and kisses me, quickly. Once.

"Do you need me to go with you?"

"No. He loves me. He doesn't need you thrown in his face."

He squeezes my hand and kisses my forehead before releasing me. I climb off

the bed and begin to dress in my evening gown again. He'll know where I've

been. What I've been doing. I hate that I've hurt him.

"Come back to me."

I look at him before I walk out the door, a grim smile on my face.

"Always, Mulder. Always."

****

Gregg Welch's Room

2:30am

I tap nervously on the door, listening for the footsteps that will bring my

fiance face to face with me.

It takes a few more knocks before the door swings open and I am gathered into

Gregg's embrace. He kisses me before I can respond, but then pulls away

abruptly.

"Dana? I was getting worried about you. It's late."

"I. . .I know. I've been with Mulder."

His eyes narrow in a territorial gesture, but I can see he's struggling to

contain it.

"We had to discuss a lot of things. Make some decisions."

"Your hair's messed up. Did he hurt you?"

He looks panicked, angry. Defensive.

"No. No. I. . . we. . ."

I can see the doubt in his eyes, he doesn't want to believe this about me. The

woman he loves would never do this. And then I see the hurt when it

crystallizes into clarification. He can tell why I've been away so long.

"Ah. I see."

"Gregg, we need to talk."

"No. No, we don't. It's okay. I get it."

What? It couldn't have possibly been this easy.

"Get what, Gregg?"

"It was a fling. Your last premarital affair before you get married. Plenty of

people do it, Dana. Now we can settle down together, right?"

"No, Gregg, that isn't-"

"Dana, it's okay. I can forgive that. I can understand your fear about getting

married. Your partner was just a representation of your freedom before you

have to give it up."

"Gregg, I am not an object! I can't believe you'd even think that about me! I

would never sleep with someone just to prove I could. And I sure as hell

wouldn't do it, and then expect you to forgive me and forget about it!"

I am furious now. At myself as well as Gregg. I'm not doing a good job here,

and I am angry at myself for this lack of control of the whole situation. I

take a deep breath and try to start over.

"Gregg," I begin in a softer voice. "I don't mean to hurt you. Believe me,

it's the last thing in the world I'd want to do. You have been so good to me.

But Mulder and I have a history together. We've been through so much. And I

thought that part of my life was over for good, but tonight when he showed up,

it brought back everything I've tried so hard to forget. It wouldn't be fair

to you, or to me, if I stayed in this relationship with you."

His face is contorted in a grimace, and I hate myself for causing him this

pain.

"Dana! How can you say that?! I love you!"

"But I love him." I whisper, and immediately regret saying those words to him.

I don't want to do this to him. For a moment I don't think I can. How I can be

responsible for his pain like this? For *his* loss? How could I have used him

like this?

He nods his head silently, he's letting me go.

"You must. You were never able to say those words to me."

The tears sting my eyes instantly, and I can't stop them from falling. He

reaches out and swipes one with his thumb before turning away from me.

"Gregg. I'm so *sorry*."

He holds up a hand to me, stopping me from saying anymore.

"Please Dana. Just go."

I stare at his back for a moment longer, before I whisper goodbye to him, and

then make my way back to Mulder, tears still streaming, and more contempt in

my heart, this time for myself.

  



	13. Crucifying Scully (13/14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (13/14)  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Chapter VI: Making Love Consecrates Forever

Scully's House

7:54 pm

I exit the bathroom wearing only a floor-length, navy, silk negligee and am

delighted to see my bedroom lit only with a dozen or so candles, and my lover

already under the sheets.

I smile at him shyly, little sparks of anticipation fluttering my stomach.

This is the first time we have planned this. It is not borne out of need or

desperation or sadness, but out of attraction, and love, and desire.

Mulder returns my smile tenfold and then waggles his index finger, beckoning

me to his side. I belong there, after all.

I walk towards him slowly, stretching out the moment as much as I can before I

am there, looking down at him. He takes hold of my hand and pulls me to him,

gently, but forcefully enough so that I land on the bed draped over him.

"*So* beautiful, Scully."

He draws up to kiss my shoulder while fingering one of the thin strap of silk

holding up my gown. He is so reverent, I feel the intensity of his emotions

sweeping over me in a hungry gaze. He is worshipping me.

I lean down kissing along his jaw as he nuzzles his way up my neck. He finds a

ticklish spot, and I start in reflex, but then he presses there with his

tongue, and I melt into his touch.

I want to taste him the way he is tasting me. To make him feel as special as I

do at this moment. To worship him in a way he has never been before.

I begin a slow exploration of his body, starting with his face. He has such a

beautiful face. It is so strong in its structure but even when he's angry, his

face is tender.

"Mulder, I love your face." I whisper to him as I place little nipping kisses

at random there.

"Mm. I *love* your face, too, Scully."

I smile at his comment and take my mouth elsewhere.

"I love your neck, too." This is said right before I bite his Adam's apple. He

yelps in surprise, a sharp noise which deepens to a groan when I begin sucking

the wound.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and I move my head slightly, letting the

strands tickle his upper chest as I move my way downwards.

I lick my way to one of his nipples, enjoying the texture of the little bud in

my mouth.

"Scully." It is a whisper, neither a plea, nor a frustration, merely an

acknowledgement.

I stop at his belly button next, thrusting my tongue in and out, an imitation

of our first night together. It has the same affect on him as it did on me, he

groans again, and clenches his hand in my hair.

"I *love* this line of hair." I smile wickedly up at him before continuing,

"It is so sexy, Mulder. *You* are so sexy."

Before he can even respond to that, I start sucking the skin under the tiny

tendrils of hair, and I think we both moan at that. But as much as I love this

part of him, I want something else. I have never enjoyed this sexual act very

much, it always seemed dirty to me before. I would do it because my lovers

would ask for it, and if I was at all hesitant they would remind me of the

pleasure *I* had just received orally.

With Mulder though, I just want to know how he would taste. I want to know

everything about him, bare all of his secrets, and this suddenly seems one of

the most important secrets he has.

When he realizes my intention, his hands tighten in my hair, and pull me up,

away from his erection.

"Scully, you don't have to-"

"Of course not, Mulder. " And then without any precedence I take him into my

mouth, all the way in before withdrawing. This seems to have squashed any more

protests from Mulder, and smile as I take only the head of his cock into my

mouth this time.

I apply a slight suction, and then dip down again, engulfing him, and pulling

up, letting my tongue slide along the underside vein.

Mulder's hands are playing with my hair, and I can tell he is fighting for a

measure of control. Whether to keep from coming right now, or forcing my head

down on his cock, I'm not sure.

I decide since he is being such a gentleman that I will give him what he

wants. I reach up to push his hand further into my hair, forcing him to force

me. He thrusts violently into my mouth then beginning a rhythm for me to

maintain, and I do so gladly, enjoying the noises he is making and the wild,

untamed look on his face.

I can sense him coming to the edge, and then he is again trying to tug me away

from him but instead I suck harder, milking him until he comes inside my mouth

with a long shuddering sigh.

I kiss around the sac enclosing his testicles, I suck the sweaty skin of his

upper thighs, lick his fading erection, enjoying the

sweet way he whispers my name when calming from his high.

A few seconds later it's "Scully." whispered hoarsely and then I allow him to

pull me up his body, the silk of my gown sliding effortlessly-- and

arousingly-- against the sweat of his body.

He meets me in a kiss, open-mouthed, tongues meeting, teeth biting.

Passion.

I let the heat build up again in our bodies, rub myself against him, the silk

creating an erotic friction against nipples and thighs.

He trails the kisses down the strap of my gown again, nudging it away with his

nose, and then following the border of silk and skin to my recently revealed

breast.

"So sweet." He mumbles against my nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

His tongue dances deliciously against the roughened pad of tissue, and then

soothes the taut areola with his saliva.

I feel the sensation shoot down my spine to my clitoris, which automatically

distends even more. I arch into his mouth, feeling the tension in my breast

mount to a more searing degree. And then he is following the same path I took

earlier, pushing my negligee off my body, licking and nipping my skin till he

finds the bundle of nerves above my entrance, already engorged with desire.

My head is moving restlessly from side to side and still he suckles at my

clit. His tongue is thrusting against me as he pulls me into his mouth

repeatedly and I feel my ascension into heaven begin.

"Mulder, that feels soo good!"

I feel him mumble something that could be "You have no idea" and then he's

pulling away, and I feel the blood rush through my body to my clitoris leaving

me empty and shaking with the loss of what could have been.

"Why did y-"

God, I sound like a little girl, on the verge of tears, pleading with him to

continue.

"I want you to feel what I feel."

Huh? I thought that was what we were doing. What is he talking about?

And then he's taking my own hand and drawing it down my sweat-slicked body,

and when I realize his destination I tense all over, the strength in my arm

battling his for control over my hand.

"C'mon, Scully. I want you to feel it."

"No," I whimper. "No, I can't."

He crawls up my body to kiss me, holding my hand firmly in place on my

stomach, and after a moment I relax into his kiss, letting the familiarity

ease the earlier fear.

"You can. I'm here with you. Please."

"Why?" I am practically sobbing with the question, my body weeping for

release.

"I want to watch. I want you to feel how wet you are for me. It's beautiful,

Scully."

His words slither into my ear and then to my veins, traveling the course of my

body before returning to my brain for definition.

He wants this.

He wants to watch me.

It's okay. He's here with me. It's not wrong. It isn't. He's moving my hand

down, further, between my thighs. I start at the first feel of warm arousal,

the way my body tingles at my own touch. He holds my hand there for a moment,

until I am accustomed to the feel. It's not a sin if he wants it right? It's

no different than anything else you do in bed. This is right.

So wet.

What he wants. I'm trying to be so still, to feel what he feels.

Wet.

Hot.

I'm rough, inside, it's rough. He's groaning, and I'm whimpering. This is what

he feels. He likes to feel this. To touch me like this. To know how wet I am

for him. The muscles in my legs are starting to quiver with the effort of

holding them steady against this onslaught of pleasure, and I arch into my own

hand. He's whispering "So good" into my ear, playing with my nipples. And I

can only nod, it is so *good*. Deep in my toes I feel a wave of pleasure

lapping at my toenails like the ocean water on the shore. I press harder on my

clit, circling it now. It's his hands not mine, his hands. I am feeling what

he feels. What he likes. The wave is creeping up my spine, and I know how soon

it will overcome me, but I'm not afraid. I won't drown. He'll save me. Now the

waves are entering my fingers, my ears, my nipples. My hips are thrusting

against my hand, not my hand. Mulder's hand. This is what he feels. I can feel

the orgasm welling inside me, inside my clit, but also on the other side, in

my fingertip. Action- reaction. He's pinching my nipples now, hard, and I feel

it simultaneously throb in my groin. And the waves are getting stronger, so

good, so good, sogoodsogoodsogoodsogoodsogood, and then I am pulled under,

sensation gripping me from every angle, my body arched high off the bed, *I

can't breathe*, and still my fingers spin over my clitoris, milking me, until

finally the waves die down, slowly, and it's painful to keep touching myself.

I fall back on the bed, completely spent, and shaking with the force of the

most intense orgasm I have ever had, and for a moment I forget Mulder is even

with me.

That is until I feel him nuzzling the side of my face, before making his way

to my mouth and slipping his tongue inside. I'm almost too tired to respond so

I let him kiss me thoroughly for a few seconds before I thrust my own tongue

into his mouth, dueling with his for control.

It is some time later before he breaks away, both of us gasping, and then he's

back, nibbling my lip before saying, "God, Scully, that was incredible!"

"Thank you." is all I can whisper to him before pulling his head back down to

mine, and kissing him again for all I'm worth. He's taught me something about

myself tonight, showed me something so beautiful, that thanking him isn't even

enough. The only thing I can think to do is show him how much I appreciate

him, how much I love him. And I do love him.

I push him onto his back, straddling his waist, before leaning over to kiss

him. He kisses me back enthusiastically as he lifts me up, so that when I

return to his body he is sheathed deep within me.

And I know that I must tell him, that it is finally time, though the words

will not express anything he doesn't already know.

"I love you." It is barely even a whisper, seems more of a thought than

anything else, but he suddenly surges up into me, thrusting harder than

before, and it might just be my imagination but I would swear he says it back

to me.

  



	14. Crucifying Scully (14/14) epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
Originally published: 22 Nov 1998 22:12:23 EST

  
 **Title:** Crucifying Scully (14/14) epilogue  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** "the End"  
 **Notes:** Your end is your beginning is your end.

  
EPILOGUE

Truth controlled Scully's life.

Mulder found the truth, and then he found Scully, and then she found herself

in him.

And then she lost herself, all over again.

They lost themselves in each other.

They drowned.

They resuscitated each other.

Scully found acceptance and approval in Mulder's eyes. She found love in his

heart. She found comfort in his arms.

She needed him.

She depended on him like no other, not even Ahab.

She no longer despised that need.

She realized she was loved, that she was capable of loving back, and that was

more wonderful than anything else in the world.

She worked her way up the proverbial ladder of success in the Federal Bureau

of Investigation, achieving critical acclaim from her peers and superiors.

And then she *was* the superior.

She was esteemed for her reason, but also her ability to believe.

Because Mulder had taught her how. He taught her that need did not mean

weakness. That love was unconditional. That passion was paramount.

She taught him about forgiveness. About love unconditional as well. About

reparations made through partnership. About the pleasures of loving a goddess.

Scully loved Mulder.

Mulder loved Scully.

And it was good.

They created a life together through trust and commitment, based on mutual

losses and pain. They eased each other's torment, soothed each other's

heartache, and built each other up.

And that too was good.


End file.
